


Photograph

by wolfstsrshipper



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, General Angst, M/M, Pain, a photograph, death mention, death reference, i dont think any particular tws applu, ummm - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-27
Updated: 2020-07-27
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:49:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25554604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wolfstsrshipper/pseuds/wolfstsrshipper
Summary: Its been a while since Sirius had gone to Azkaban. Remus is cleaning and he finds a photograph of the young boy. It's been a while, and he can't take it. He finally breaks down.
Relationships: Sirius Black/Remus Lupin
Comments: 1
Kudos: 13





	Photograph

Today was officially four years since Remus had seen Him.

One thousand, four hundred, and sixty days. 

But he wasn’t counting. 

He wasn’t counting each suffocating _second_ that went by. How could he?

It had been four years since he’s even heard _His_ voice. Seen _His_ face. Touched _His_ skin. Even in a photograph. 

It had been four years.

Four long, torturous years since he got to hold Harry. Since he got to cut up with James, since he got to hug Lily, since he got to _kiss Him_.

It had been over Thirty-five thousand and fourty hours since he was safe in His arms.

But he wasn’t counting. 

How could he. 

How could he spend each minute reminding himself just _how many_ seconds passed by without James and Lily, without _Him_.

How could he remind himself of sitting in that room completely surrounded by people but more alone than ever, staring at the two coffins that held his best friends? How could he count the seconds he spent alone in his flat, without feeling arms around his waist and lips on his neck. How could he count the number of moons he spent alone, the wolf slowly killing him because of the sheer lack of will to live. 

How could he constantly remind himself of everything he lost?

If he did, he would feel the boiling anger that sat in him day in and day out. He would feel the loneliness and sadness closing in on his mind like a pack of wolves about to make their death blow.

His therapist said if he never got it out, then it would just build until he broke. She said that he needed to let someone in. 

But he knew how that turned out. 

What he needed to do was move.

Move out of the house he bought with _Him_. 

Remus was upstairs, gathering the last few things to fit into his trunk before he shrunk it and left the house, never to step in it again.

He only had one box. 

He didn’t own many things, he found that out after he tossed everything that belonged to _him_ in the bins. 

He checked under the bed one last time, looking for anything that he might need. 

Stuck under the far corner of the bed stand was a tiny, rectangular piece of paper. He sighed and slid underneath the bed, hitting his head a few times on the board overhead and bit his tongue accidentally. He used his back to raise the bed a little and get it off the ground and away from the wall, then he swiped it up and set the bed back down, shimmying out from underneath.

He held the piece of paper up a little, closer to his face. There was something written on the back, in Remus’s messy handwriting. “Summer of ‘78” It read. He turned it over.

It was Him. 

His heart rate sped up, he felt it in his throat. It roared in his ears. He forgot how to breath. He was frozen, just staring at the image of _him_. His beautiful gray eyes, his gorgeous long, wavy, soft black hair. His sharp jawline, his broad shoulders. His perfect smile. Memory after memory flooded him as he relived those years in a single moment. His mind stopped working. He couldn’t move, he was just frozen there. 

He _hated_ him. 

He hated Sirius Black. He hated everything he did, everything he took from him. He hated the mornings he spent with him, the nights he shared his bed. He hated everything he stood for, he couldn’t bare to look at the photo a second longer, but he couldn’t take his eyes off it. 

Because he still loved him. He still wanted him, he still wanted to touch him so badly, he would sell his _soul_ just for one last time of seeing _him_. 

His throat burned and his eyes stung. Tears streamed down his face as a sob took over him, until he could no longer see the picture. 

He held it close to his chest, he wanted to kick, to scream, to yell at the man who’s name he couldn’t even _bare_ to mention in his mind. 

But he also wanted to hold him and kiss him, he wanted to wake up safe in his arms. 

But he couldn’t do that either, so for the first time in four years, he sobbed as many tears as he had to give and then some, _clutching_ the photograph to his chest, his mind blank other than _he’s not here_ and his heart numb. 

It had been zero years, zero days, and zero hours since Remus had seen Sirius Black. 

And he wished he didn’t.


End file.
